


fermata

by fiendfall



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Slavery, Trans Character, fenris has uncertainties over his place in like the whole world, hawke's been there, they're both trying so hard and im so proud of both of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 13:23:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12727392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiendfall/pseuds/fiendfall
Summary: noun, musical notation: ‘a pause of unspecified length, left to the conductor’s discretion’‘I think I made a mistake,’ Fenris says, eventually. His fingers have found the edges of his sleeves, tugging them as far as he can. He shivers against the breeze. ‘I think I made a mistake.’Hawke is now and has always been so woefully unequipped for this.





	fermata

**Author's Note:**

> this can be read as gen but is part of my hawke/fenris canon
> 
> also disclaimer that i’m trans but not a trans man, so i hope i haven’t said anything accidentally horrible. hawke’s relationship to his gender and the way he speaks about it are all very personal to me, i’m not trying to set it up like The One Trans Experience lmfao. i’m also really not trying to position slavery and a trans person being in the closet as the same thing at all, please don’t misunderstand, i’m just exploring similar emotional responses to and questions raised by very different situations
> 
> i don't feel like this is My Best Work Ever, but it's something that's been on my mind for a while & is very personal to me, so. it needed writing lmfao

He finds Fenris outside.

It’s not where he had expected. The manor, dark even in the moonlight, looms above, all corridors and darkened windows. Corpses in the hallway, still. Plenty of times Hawke has climbed those stairs to find Fenris in the single room he has claimed. In fair weather and foul.

But tonight, he is outside. The garden must once have been pleasantly decorative; small, but, Hawke imagines, well-kept. The remains of an ostentatious fountain, now dry and crumbling. Flagstones, weeds poking up through their cracks. An iron-wrought bench, rust peeling.

Fenris sits a little way in, his back facing the manor, elbows resting on the step behind him. Looking up at the night sky.

It feels— wrong, to disturb him. This moment is private, intimate.

But he can’t leave things as they are. Too many words were thrown tonight to let it lie; Hawke can’t even risk leaving it till morning. Lots can happen overnight, he’s discovered. Too many of his words have been left till morning, then left forever.

No. It has to be now.

He clears his throat, gently. Fenris doesn’t startle — a good sign? Hawke remembers a time when surprising Fenris could very well result in narrowly-avoided injury. Or perhaps Fenris heard Hawke’s footfalls as he approached; he can be quiet when he wants to be, but no reason to sneak here.

Or perhaps it could be any number of other things. Hawke has never pretended to understand the way Fenris’ mind works — how could he? How could any of them? Beyond the slightest whisper, their experiences bare only a passing resemblance.

‘Mind if I join you?’

Fenris looks over his shoulder at him, then. Expression unreadable. He studies Hawke, who tries to hold still under the man’s eye.

‘Do as you wish,’ he says, finally. Turns back to the sky.

Hawke picks his way through the ruined garden, echoes of its previous owner, its previous life. Finds a space beside Fenris, at the distance he’s learnt is right. Close enough to offer support. Far enough not to crowd.

They sit awhile. It’s Hawke’s responsibility to break that silence. He’s the one here to apologise.

Fenris beats him to it.

‘I am a fool,’ he says. His voice is rough and quiet. An undertone that Hawke recognises but can’t put a name to. ‘I acted like a child, tonight.’

Hawke is speaking before his mind has a chance to catch up. ‘No, no! Fenris, not at all, you weren’t— You were fine.’

Fenris fixes him with a look.

‘Alright,’ Hawke revises. ‘Fair enough. You weren’t on top form, but neither was anyone else.  _Everyone_ was acting stupid. It’s been a rough week, people needed to blow off steam, and it all just kind of snowballed from there. Happens all the time. I’m just— I’m only sorry you got caught up in it, that wasn’t fair.’

He’s telling the truth. They’d spent all week fighting skeletons and spiders in what felt like a faithfully reconstructed version of the Maker’s armpit; their employer had tried to skip town without paying them; the Templars had threatened Merrill  _again_ … Honestly, it was small wonder their end-of-the-week drinks has turned into an end-of-the-week shouting match. It hadn’t even been about magic this time.  _Isabela_ had got involved, which was how you knew it was bad. No one had come out of it looking good. But at the end of the day, they’re all mates, this kind of thing happens. Hawke has enough faith in his friendships to know this isn’t going to blemish anything in the long run. It’s just been a shitty end to a shitty week, and he’s intimately familiar with those.

Fenris shakes his head. ‘Now  _you_ are being foolish. I was not caught up in anything. I am not an idiot, Hawke, despite how it might appear after my behaviour tonight. I… I know I have been at the heart of much trouble within the group. I know I have made things difficult. For you.’

Is this what Fenris was worried about? ‘It goes both ways. Anders brings shit up just as much as you do, I wouldn’t worry. You don’t have to get along swimmingly with everyone you meet all the time. I wouldn’t expect you to — and that’s not a  _you_ ‘you’, it’s not directed at— it’s just people in general, yeah?’

Fenris huffs a laugh. ‘You are kind to say.’

They sit, then. Fenris goes back to watching the sky, and Hawke joins him. It would be peaceful, if he couldn’t feel that undercurrent of things left unsaid. It wraps around Fenris like a cloak. Weighed heavy with the unspoken.

The night air is cooling, warmth from the day seeping from the stone beneath Hawke’s trousers. The leftover alcoholic buzz stops the air from becoming sharp against his skin, but he’s aware of his short sleeves beneath his jacket. It’s late summer; funny, to think how they are sitting out here, the sky deepened to ink above them. It would be too cold, back home. Days last longer, here.

‘I think I made a mistake,’ Fenris says, eventually. His fingers have found the edges of his sleeves, tugging them as far as he can. He shivers against the breeze. ‘I think I made a mistake.’

Hawke is now and has always been so woefully unequipped for this.

‘What do you mean?’ is all he can ask, feeling stupid. This isn’t about the argument — or at least, he doesn’t think it is — but that leaves him so adrift. Fenris could mean  _anything_.

Fenris is quiet. Long enough Hawke wonders if he will answer at all. And then: ‘Was I right, to come here?’

‘To Kirkwall?’ Hawke tries to clarify. He’s an idiot; he knows there’s something deeper to Fenris’ words. But he’s so blind, feeling his way through a darkened room filled with glass. He won’t know he’s gone wrong until something shatters, and he desperately,  _desperately_ does not want that to happen. All he can do is move slowly, and hope.

Fenris makes a noise in the back of his throat. ‘To the south.’

It both surprises him and is exactly what he expected, all at once.

The room is so dark; he can feel the danger of a misstep on every side.

‘I do not know what I am doing.’ There’s a frustrated edge to Fenris’ voice. ‘I am— I am as a child, learning everything, I do not— I am not  _good_ at this.’

Hawke’s chest hurts. ‘You’re doing fine, Fenris,’ he says, gentle.

‘I am not!’ Fenris stands then, sudden, sharp. ‘I am not, and you know it —  _they_ know it, I know it, I— Why are you here, with me, when there are so many others who could use your help tonight? Why must you babysit me, if I do not make you?’

The anger is not unexpected; the words, though? Hawke feels like he’s wading through swamp-water trying to light on the right response, the right—

‘I am a fool, Hawke, I am a child, and I cannot— I do not know how to change that. I—’ He struggles for the words, does not find them. Makes a noise in his throat, halfway to a growl, halfway to a sob. Turns away. Breathes.

‘I was happy, before.’ The frustration is gone, now. Only quiet left in its wake. ‘I know that is— I know that is stupid, and foul, and I hate it and myself for thinking it, but— I was. I was content. I knew my role, and I played it well, and I found happiness in that. Did I throw that away for  _this_? This— endless uncertainty?’

He stands. Alone. Deflated. The silence heavy, dead.

Hawke doesn’t know what to say.

What  _can_ he say? What is there that could possibly— How could he—

He could say that no one knows what they are doing, not really. Throw out some trite statement about everyone making things up as they go, muddling along through life. He could point out that everyone has their problems, everyone finds certain things difficult. He could reassure that no one expects this of Fenris, that people understand as best they can, that they want to give him the space he needs. That they see how far he’s come already, that they— that  _he_  knows how much Fenris has grown and changed and how hard he’s trying and he’s so achingly  _proud_ and so grateful to get to see—

He  _could_. He could say any number of useless things.

He shrugs off his jacket. Offers it to Fenris. It’s stupid to think it might help. Bu Fenris takes it, and Hawke feels something unknot in his chest.

‘You know I used to be a girl, yeah?’

It’s— not what he meant to say. But Fenris sits back down beside him, caught between caution and curiosity, and Hawke shrugs. Keeps going.

‘It’s not a secret or anything. I never really tried to keep it as one. I know who I am, and where I’ve come from, and I’m— I’m okay with that. It’s part of me, and my history, and it wasn’t like I was  _miserable_ back then or anything. I could probably have lived the whole of my life as a girl and been mostly alright. I wouldn’t have  _loved_ it, but if I had to? Yeah, probably. But I didn’t want to.’

He takes a breath. ‘It’s— It was rough. Mum  _really_ didn’t understand for a while there.’ He huffs a laugh. It’s forced. ‘I thought I’d ruined my family, for a bit. It was all pretty awkward, people not talking to each other, not talking to  _me_ … Couldn’t help thinking that maybe I should’ve left well enough alone, you know? Not stuck my head above the parapet, not made a fuss, just got on with it. I could’ve managed. I didn’t have to go ruining my family just for my own happiness — and I didn’t even  _know_ I’d be happier, you know? I hoped, I believed, but I hadn’t lived it, I couldn’t know for sure. It was… It’s scary stuff, yeah?’

He leans back, looks up at the sky again. Stars winking down at him. ‘Obviously it’s not the same, of course I get that. But I know how tough it can be. Making a change. A big one, that’s all, you know, how you see yourself and your place in the world, all that big picture shit. And it is. Tough, I mean. But it does get easier. And it really, really  _is_  worth it.’

He didn’t mean to say so much. Talk for so long.

He hopes it helps.

He has no idea if it helps.

Fenris is looking at him, and Hawke has no idea what the quality in his eyes is.

‘What if I am never how I want to be?’ Fenris says, eventually. Softly. Like confessional. ‘What if I am always— like this? I am—  _so_ far behind. What if I am never good at this? Even if this is—  _better_ — what if it is not enough?’

Hawke rubs the back of his neck. The cold air settles on his skin; the warmth of the alcohol well and truly gone. His mind is clear, and feels the emptier for it.

‘Maybe it won’t be,’ he admits. ‘I know I— I was a pretty girl. I could’ve been really— I could’ve been really pretty. And sometimes I wonder… I don’t know. If I ruined it. Ruined myself. I look fine now, I look alright, but I’m not— You know. And I’m never going to be. That was a roulette when I was born and I lost it already. And I  _am_ happy like this, with myself, with me, but sometimes—  I don’t know. It’s easy to wonder, right? ’Cause we know how our decisions turned out to get us here. But not how they would’ve worked out if we made the other one. I don’t know.

‘I think— It’s late, so you’re getting probably idiot advice, but… I think you’ve just got to commit. To whatever it is you do. To whoever it is you want to be. And make the most of it. Make the best of it. ’Cause life is filled with ‘what ifs’, everything you do could be done some other way, and… Life’s too short, you know? So what if you never quite make it to where everyone else is? So what if you’re never quite the same? The same as  _what_? Everyone’s coming from somewhere different, and going somewhere different, so—’

He stops. Talking until he finds something wise has always worked before, but tonight… This is so important, and so personal, to both of them… He  _needs_ to find the right thing to say.

‘I don’t know,’ he says again. ‘I think maybe there isn’t an answer to this kind of thing. But— You’re doing fine, Fenris, you really are. No one has everything figured out. And you’re always going to be enough, no matter what stage you’re at. People aren’t— People aren’t measured in how much they’re worth. Or they shouldn’t be, at least. Everyone has stuff they’re not good at, or find hard, or are out of their depth with. Everyone’s still learning a lot of that shit. So—’ he wishes he was still drunk, or magically smart, or something, Maker — ‘so you’re going to be okay,’ he finishes, lamely.

He’s such a useless idiot.

He talked for  _so long_ and that’s the best he could come up with?

He wishes he were better at this.

‘I’m sorry I don’t have anything better to tell you,’ he says, uselessly. ‘I’m… I’m always here for you, you know that? If you ever need someone to talk to, or…’

He trails off, lets it die. There’s nothing more he could say, and there’s little point in speaking just for the sake of noise. They sit in quietness, lit by the moon, the manor casting shadows over them from behind. The sounds of the city, never fully asleep, just muted.

He hopes Fenris can figure this out. He knows better than to think this is just the drink talking, one week of stress and an argument, like this isn’t a core anxiety about his very personhood. Hawke has had nights like these before, countless times, or days even, days where he’s just going about his business and suddenly hit with the worry that he’s done it all wrong, he messed it all up, and for nothing. The worry that he ruined his own life, over a misunderstanding.

He knows who he is. He’s happy in who he is. And he  _knows_ he was right.  _Is_ right. But sometimes— the uncertainty. It gnaws.

‘Well,’ he says, too brightly, his voice loud. ‘I’d better get home before Bodahn sends out a rescue party.’ He stands, wanting to say something else, but not knowing—

Fenris stands with him. Shrugs off his jacket, offers it back. Hawke has the ridiculous urge to say ‘keep it’, like it isn’t his only jacket. It doesn’t even fit Fenris, anyway.

He just… He just wants to help.

He takes the jacket. Nods his goodbyes. Tries to think of something to say farewell with, something good, or wise, or helpful,  _something_ —

He doesn’t manage it. Just says some stupid, useless stuff about how much he cares, how he’s there for Fenris if he wants, how he hopes things get easier. And then turns, heads back through the dark streets to his own home, his own bed.

He hopes some of what he said tonight helps.

(It does.)


End file.
